


Blissful Oblivion

by keeptheotherone



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Discord - Freeform, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-11
Updated: 2019-08-11
Packaged: 2021-02-24 22:15:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22005322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keeptheotherone/pseuds/keeptheotherone
Summary: Harry has a nightmare, but Ginny's reaction isn't what he expects. Written for the Several Sunlit Days Challenge on the Hinny Discord with prompt "nightmare."
Relationships: Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley
Comments: 14
Kudos: 23





	Blissful Oblivion

Harry Potter, Auror and Savior of the Wizarding World, stared at his former Head of House in horror.

'Well?” Professor McGonagall asked, raising one imperious eyebrow.

“I-- I-- I didn't know an essay was due, Professor,” Harry said, looking wildly around the crowded Auror office, wondering why Ron hadn't warned him and when Robards had decided to start hiring staff from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. “I can— I can go do it now, if you like....”

“What I would like, Mr. Potter, is for your professional responsibilities to be met in full and on time.”

“Of course, Professor, but--”

Her second eyebrow joined the first.

“I, er … I don't know what the assignment is.”

Harry stood in the Headmaster's office, facing a slumping Professor Dumbledore with a blackened, shriveled hand. “I'm very disappointed in you, Harry. After all you have accomplished, I expected better from you.”

Harry's desperation and despair was rising. “I'm sorry, Professor, honest, I just--” He looked over his shoulder for help but saw only Fawkes, grooming his scarlet and gold feathers with sleepy- eyed contentment. Neither Professor McGonagall nor any of his fellow Aurors were in view, and Harry was getting very confused about whether he had forgotten to write a school essay or an Auror after- action report.

He was falling, falling, falling. He could see the parapets of the Astronomy Tower beyond the top of the Quidditch stands and— he must have climbed especially high to look for the Snitch because he was still falling, arms and legs windmilling in a futile effort to slow his descent--

Until he landed with a bone- jarring thud and turned to find Arthur Weasley sitting beside him. 

“Hello, Harry,” Arthur said cheerfully, turning the steering wheel of the old Ford Anglia just in time to clear the Quidditch pitch and guide them over … London?

Harry stared at the Muggles gathered in front of Buckingham Palace to watch the changing of the guard, then turned back to his father- in- law. 

“What's going on? What did I forget that's so important?”

“Ah- ah- ah,” Arthur chided. “If I tell you, you won't remember.”

“But I've tried to remember and I can't! At least tell me if it has to do with Hogwarts or the Ministry or--”

Harry broke off when he saw their destination, an all- too- familiar Georgian square.

“No, Arthur, I don't want to go back to Grimmauld Place.”

“Fear of a place only increases fear of the thing itself,” Arthur said sagely, landing smoothly in the open, grassless courtyard.

“What? No, that's not how it goes. It's 'fear of a name'--”

But Arthur was no longer listening. No one was listening, in fact, because they were all too busy scurrying to wherever they thought they needed to be. Harry recognized the white latticework supporting the arched ceiling of King's Cross Station and felt the rush of adrenaline pour into his veins, increasing his heartrate and sharpening his senses.

What time was it? Was it eleven yet? The Hogwarts Express left from Platform 9 ¾ at precisely eleven o'clock sharp. Turning frantically left, then right, joining the stream of passengers heading towards the tracks even as his head swiveled in an impressive imitation of Hedwig's, Harry couldn't see a clock anywhere. Which was ridiculous— he knew perfectly well there were clocks all over King's Cross. It was a train station, for Merlin's sake.

“I'll tell you what is ridiculous,” Molly Weasley said conversationally, appearing out of nowhere … and even more strangely, without any ginger children following her. “A grown man searching for clocks when there is a perfectly good watch on his wrist.”

Harry stopped dead, causing a small scrum as disgruntled Muggles stacked up behind him. Ignoring their complaints, he checked the watch Molly had given him for his seventeenth birthday.

Eleven-oh-two. 

The sinking queasiness in his stomach slowed somewhat when he remembered that he was a grown- up now. He didn't have to take the train to Hogwarts; he could Apparate! Harry reached into his pocket for his wand....

And that is when he truly began to panic.

()()()()

“Harry! Harry, wake up!”

Harry sat bolt upright with a gasp.

“It's okay,” Ginny soothed, laying one hand on his shoulder. “You're okay, it was just a dream.”

Harry fell back onto his pillow with a groan, covering his face with both hands. Struck by a sudden terrifying thought, he peeked between them and asked, “It's not your birthday, is it?”

She laughed. “No, of course not.”

“Or our anniversary?”

She shook her head, unbound hair gliding over bare freckled shoulders. 

“Or anything else you would be mad at me for forgetting?”

“No, Harry, it's just an ordinary Saturday morning.”

“What about your mum? Or Hermione?” He sat up again, remembering Molly's appearance in his dream and dismayed at the thought of disappointing the woman who had become the only mother he could remember.

Ginny shook her head once more, a soft bemused smile on her beautiful face. “Not that I know of,” she said. “What's the matter? What happened?”

Harry scrubbed one hand through what he knew had to be a ferocious case of bedhead. “I was dreaming, and McGonagall said I had forgotten to hand in an essay, but we were in the Auror office at the Ministry and I didn't know if it was for school or for work, but she wouldn't tell me. And then suddenly I was in Dumbledore's office— his hand was withered like it was in sixth year, do you remember?”

She nodded and he continued.

“And he was talking about how disappointed he was and Fawkes— I haven't thought of Fawkes in years. Did you ever see him? Dumbledore's phoenix?”

“Just when he carried us out of the Chamber,” Ginny said quietly. 

That gave him pause. “Right. Well, Fawkes was there, and then I was falling from my broom, falling from way, way high up, but your dad picked me up in the Ford Anglia and took me to Grimmauld Place but I didn't want to go and— why are you smiling?” Harry asked, narrowing his eyes at his wife.

“Go on,” she said.

He gave her another suspicious look but complied. “Grimmauld Place … the details are fading, I can't remember— but that's what it was about! I'd forgotten something, or forgotten to do something, some essay or assignment or after- action report or something, but I couldn't remember what it was and no one would tell me and I was at the Ministry and then at Hogwarts and I couldn't figure out if I had forgotten something for school or for work and then— then I was at King's Cross, and I missed the Hogwarts Express--” Harry frowned at the unabashed grin now stretching across Ginny's face. “I realize it might sound silly to you, but it really wasn't funny!”

“Oh, Harry, don't you see?” she said, reaching up to brush his dark fringe aside before pressing a tender kiss to his lighting- bolt scar. “It was a nightmare.”

He pulled back, not in any mood to be patronized. “I know it was a nightmare. It was in my head!”

“A regular, ordinary, normal, run- of- the- mill nightmare.” Ginny punctuated each description with a kiss, effectively softening his sour mood. “This was the kind of nightmare everyone has from time to time, not something specific to the Chosen One or the Boy Who Lived.”

“Ohh.”

“Yes,” she agreed, clearly amused at his lack of awareness. “Oh.”

Harry laid back, tucking Ginny into his side and contemplating this new insight. “I haven't had a bad dream that didn't involve Voldemort in some way or another since the war ended.”

“I know.”

He ran one hand through her hair, gently working out the knots that had developed as she slept. “I'm not sure I have ever had a bad dream that didn't have something to do with Voldemort … or my parents' death, which was still about Voldemort anyway—” He paused to think. “Yeah. I think this is the first time.”

She shifted to meet his gaze. “I'm so happy for you, Harry.”

“I'm so happy _with_ you, Ginny.”

“Mmm, me too.”

Her words were muffled against his mouth, her kiss slow and sweet. With a lazy Saturday morning stretching out ahead of them, Harry drew her closer and relaxed into the mattress. This was the best kind of blissful oblivion, just living life with Ginny for several sunlit days.


End file.
